


Wednesday (K)night

by sesame_seed



Category: Anthropomorphism, Lineage 2, World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-12
Updated: 2012-12-12
Packaged: 2017-11-20 23:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/590789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sesame_seed/pseuds/sesame_seed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So basically L2 is the gay emo art student, and WoW is the frat boy jock who does everything well without trying, and L2 kind of hates him for it, except for the fact that he DOES EVERYTHING WELL, including things like being attractive to L2. For which L2 hates him even more, of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wednesday (K)night

**Author's Note:**

> Background:  
> [An idea is born](http://absenceofmind.livejournal.com/101854.html#cutid2)  
> [Ficlet](http://community.livejournal.com/drabble_trade/17837.html?thread=289965#t289965) by [](http://absenceofmind.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://absenceofmind.livejournal.com/)**absenceofmind**
> 
> [VIsual aid](http://tongari.livejournal.com/354399.html) courtesy of [**tongari**](http://tongari.livejournal.com/)

He hears the key in the lock, but doesn't move from his spot in front of the TV: Link is in the middle of navigating through a thousand deadly booby traps with nothing but a boomerang and incredible good luck at his aid. The door opens, bringing a gust of leaves and wind that flutter his readings and disturb the perfectly arranged dishevelment of his coiffure. Shuts with a bang.

"Man, it's like walking through a car wash out there."

He spares a second to glance at WoW, make sure he's not melting or tracking mud into the apartment, then lets the second stretch, because WoW in drowned cat attire is something else. His shaggy hair is plastered to his head, darkened by the rain, and his favorite _Parties look for_ ME t-shirt is almost transparent against the perfect planes of his stomach. Anybody else would look grubby and bedraggled after walking through a thunderstorm without even the precaution of a raincoat. WoW looks --

On the TV, Link loses half a heart of life to a spike on the floor. L2 hits the pause button belatedly and scowls at the screen.

He's recalled by the sound of the fridge opening. Over in the kitchenette, WoW is making himself at home, scrounging around for leftovers. A beer hits the counter, followed by a half-eaten bag of chips.

"There's some casserole in the Tupperware," L2 says. He's on a diet, but had made two servings anyway. There are some days when he really, really hates WoW, with an additional really tacked on because he'd found himself buying extra beer this week, too.

"You're a lifesaver, babe. What would I do without you?"

"Don't call me that." He says it, every time. WoW ignores it, every time.

He watches WoW navigate around the island counter with a bowl of casserole in one hand, a bottle of Yuenling in the other, to plop down beside him. Too close. L2 shifts aside, putting some distance between them.

"You'll get my clothes wet," he says before WoW can have a chance to protest. His shirt is silk, Armani, close on $300 even at a half-price sale. He shouldn't have worn it for a quiet night at home, but it's Wednesday.

WoW comes over to his place on Wednesdays only. He's a creature of surprisingly regular habits: new movies on Mondays, LGBT center meetings on Tuesdays, game night on Thursdays, parties on Fridays and Saturdays, and nobody knows where he goes on Sundays. Which party he attends is random, but they all try to latch on to him, because WoW's presence is like a dose of tequila in the punch. If there are no festivities taking place on his appointed party nights, he forms one himself on the spur of the moment, and those are always instant hot spots as well.

L2 has always prided himself on being a champion of impulse, of whimsy. It's unsettling to find himself as part of a routine, even if that routine belongs to someone else.

"You're so mean to me," WoW is complaining, going after the wounded puppy dog look that makes it look as though somebody's taken a nightstick to his head. L2 snorts and unfreezes his game; he uses the boomerang to hit a switch on the wall that de-activates the spike, and runs across.

"Too much of a cold bitch for your taste?"

"Man, you're never going to let that go. I meant it in a good way!"

Link pushes a rock down on the unsuspecting monster strolling underneath. It makes a satisfying splat. "Finish your food and take a shower. You're ruining my carpet."

"It'll dry out." WoW chews disconsolately for a while. When he opens his mouth again, L2 knows, _knows_ what's about to come: "Hey, wanna -- "

"I've already bathed." He aims a kick at WoW's thigh, not easy while sitting cross-legged on the floor, but he's sufficiently motivated.

"Cleanliness is next to godliness," says WoW angelically, except L2 can hear the eyebrow-waggle in his voice.

"Better take your own advice, then." He runs a quick, disapproving finger across WoW's chin; it grates across his skin like sandpaper. "And make some goddamned use of the razor; you look like you spent the night in the park."

WoW catches his hand before he can withdraw it, brings it up and licks a stripe down his wrist to the center of his palm. His tongue is wet, and greasy from the casserole. It's completely disgusting.

L2 makes a sound he will later deny.

When WoW presses him down into the carpet, he's not thinking about his shirt, or Link, or WoW's stubble (except when it scrapes along his stomach, then his thighs), not thinking of anything but sinking his fingers into WoW's thick, messy hair, trying to breathe, trying to hold on without losing himself in the white tide of pleasure that sweeps over and around him, dragging him down. It's not much of a success.

*

WoW does take a shower, afterwards; L2 entertains the idea of joining him, but he's feeling too lazy and sated to move. Besides, no point in granting more of WoW's wishes than he has to. He turns his head with a bit of effort. Link has long since met his demise, with the screen blinking a hopeful 'Continue?' at him in black and white.

He dozes after that, and at some point he thinks he feels himself being picked up and carried, laid among cool sheets and soft, smooth pillows, thinks he hears WoW's low chuckle. But that would be demeaning and wounding to his dignity, so it was probably just a hallucination.

When he wakes up in his bed, he doesn't think about how he got there. Light from the hallway spills through the halfway open door, and he can hear the digital sounds of fighting from the living room.

WoW comes over to his place on Wednesdays. They play video games, watch old movies, or WoW catches a game on TV while L2 does his homework. Most of the time there's sex thrown in, but not always.

He pushes himself up and pads out down the hallway, into the living room where WoW is playing Smash Bros., using Link (cheater) to beat on a surprisingly skilled Kirby. He looks up once when L2 enters, flashes a blink-and-you'll-miss-it hint of dimples, and returns his focus to the game.

L2 heads to the fridge and pours himself a glass of water. He studies WoW while drinking it: the clean, determined line of his profile, his eternally messy hair, the impressive muscles revealed only casually by the atrocious outfits he wears. WoW spends no time at all on his appearance, and why should he, after all? He doesn't need to, to draw eyes.

Like most of the people at the university, L2 heard of WoW long before meeting him. Even the professors were wont to make humorous references to WoW and the eleven million girls who invited him to their parties and into their beds, texting glowing references of his prowess to Twitter the morning after. He has his own hashtag: wowhesgood. Sometimes people leave out one of the 'o's.

L2 paid very little mind to all the fuss; whether the rumors of WoW's extraordinary natural advantages were true or not, he was neither a rival nor an interest in L2's love life, and L2 could afford to be detached.

He finishes his water and rinses out the glass, then heads back to the living room, glancing at the TV screen as he passes by. "He's beating you."

"No, he's not."

"If you say so." He makes his way over to the bookshelf to retrieve his sketchbook; his current project is still in its initial stages, a medieval castle with tall towers and graceful minarets, but surrounded by defenses constructed in the most awesomely forbidding fashion, all weathered stone and buttresses the size of tanks, with one lone knight laying siege outside the gates.

That's what it is in his head, at least. On paper, it's a rough, jumbling outline of a structure, and a little stick figure in the corner.

He works on it for a bit, fleshing out the details: drawbridge blocking the entrance, armor on the knight, some of the towers damaged, with stones knocked loose.

"Goddammit. Motherfucking creampuff."

He looks up to see WoW fling the controller away from him; a glance at the TV shows Link lying sadly at the feet of the triumphant pink Kirby. L2 tries not to look too terribly pleased by this. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in." WoW rolls his shoulders and stretches with a yawn that makes him look momentarily leonine; then he blinks. "Are you drawing me?"

"No."

This seems to give WoW pause. "D'you want to?"

"No."

"Why not? I think I'd make a great model." WoW strikes a pose that should look ridiculous, but of course doesn't. "I think I'd make a _super_ model, hey?"

L2 throws a pencil at him. He catches it before it nails him in the eye. "If you're craving attention that badly, ask one of the girls in the art club to do it. I'm sure they'd jump at the chance."

"I could," says WoW, thoughtfully. After a period of silence in which he's probably indulging in a daydream of posing before a gathering of beautiful women, clad only in a tasteful fig leaf, he rouses himself to say, "So what are you drawing, if you're not drawing me?" And the implication, _it can't possibly be as fascinating a subject_.

He fixes WoW with a quelling look. "None of your business."

As expected, this only prods WoW get to his feet and peer over the sketchbook for a glimpse of its contents. L2 lifts it up and brings it down on his head.

"Hey!"

"Go lose another game and stop bothering me."

"So mean to me," WoW repeats, _sotto voce_.

L2 straightens the sketchbook and returns to his work, not bothering to hide it when WoW sidles over again. It's just not worth it. That phrase has become a constant in his vocabulary since they started going out.

"Cool," is WoW's verdict, and L2 can only sigh.

"Yes, o great art critic. Now leave me be."

He expects WoW to wander off then, curiousity appeased, but he lingers, and then he points to one of the details that L2 had just added. "Why does the castle have propellers?"

L2 squashes down the urge to sigh again. Just his luck that WoW is in a restless mood after his loss. "Because it's a flying castle."

"Like in that cartoon? Cool." He stops, but this time L2 is prepared when he continues. "Why's it on the ground, then?"

"Because the knight broke the flying mechanism."

"What, by glaring at it?"

He shrugs. "By shooting it, I guess. Who cares?"

WoW squints at the picture. "With a crossbow?"

"With a rocket."

"The medieval knight has a rocket launcher?"

"It's a world where castles can fly, so yes, the knight has a rocket launcher." He draws it in for good measure, except he's not really sure what rocket launchers look like, so it's more like an amorphous rectangular blob.

That seems to satisfy WoW, and he wanders back to the Wii to start up another round of Smash Bros. L2 hopes he loses again.

He continues to add in details: the dirt and dents in the knight's armor, the windows in the castle overlooking the gate, the damage where the rocket had hit. It's all flowing easily now, the image he sees in his head transferring itself smoothly to paper, and he feels the rush of power that inspiration always brings. He almost doesn't notice when WoW starts speaking again, and when it registers, all he feels is annoyance.

"What are you on about now?"

"I _said_ , I feel sorry for the knight. Just think what it must be like to be camped out in front of a broken flying castle on a night like this. His armor's probably rusting as we speak."

"He can always go away. Nobody's forcing him to park in front of the castle."

"Maybe there's a quest he has to complete. Maybe there's a princess inside the castle he has to save."

L2 squints at him. "Have you been playing as Mario again?"

"Um, no." WoW very casually moves to block his view of the TV screen. "All I'm saying is, there's probably a reason he has to be there, or he _wouldn't_ be there. And look, he's used up his rocket, so now he's never getting in."

"Don't underestimate him. I think he'll probably get in pretty easily."

"What, does he have grenades in his armor this time?"

L2 puts down the sketchbook; clearly WoW isn't going to let this go until something is settled. "He doesn't need any. You're looking at this from the wrong point of view: he doesn't need to break down the castle, he just needs to persuade the castle to open up to him. There are guards in charge of that drawbridge, and I suspect the knight can be silver-tongued when it suits him."

"Huh." WoW gives this some thought. "I guess that's okay, then."

"You'd think that, of course. Me, I feel sorry for the castle."

It's utterly unfair that even WoW's look of blank incomprehension is underwear-model attractive. "It's just a pile of rocks."

"A flying pile of rocks, thank you." He doesn't bother to curb the edge in his voicec. "Except it's not anymore, of course. The knight can leave any time he pleases, but the castle is stuck there now."

"No, look, he wouldn't leave the princess behind."

"There _is_ no princess in this castle," he snaps. "How long do you think it'll take him to discover that? And then he'll be on his merry way, leaving, as you say, just a pile of rocks behind him."

"Whoa, calm down." WoW's a bit wide-eyed now, and no surprise; L2 knows how he must sound. He closes his eyes and takes a breath.

"It's part of my artistic vision for this work. You wouldn't understand."

WoW gets up and walks over to him. He's not sure what to expect -- is WoW coming to check on the updated picture? to settle the argument by wrestling?-- but all WoW does is bend over and lay a smacking kiss on his lips.

"Dude, you're so weird," he says fondly.

He heads back to the kitchen for another beer while L2 tries to will his heart into calmness.

Everybody knows about WoW's girls, and the thing about them is that they're all willing to be part of the plural. He has a gift for finding those who are just looking for a good time, or a quick fling before settling down, or rampantly and unashamedly polygamous.

It was probably one of the reasons he took up with L2. L2 is monogamous when seeing someone, then dumps them when a change of pace is called for. He knows his own assets well enough to be assured of never having to be lonely if he doesn't want to be, and he knew WoW's reputation when he took up with him. It was a point in WoW's favor: no heartbreak on either side at the inevitable end.

But WoW has his stupid schedule, and his stupid Wednesdays, and now L2 finds himself expecting them, preparing for them, going through the day with a pleasurable feeling of anticipation for the night. And lately he's begun to wonder -- very secretly, on the down low even from himself -- what it'll be like when there's nothing left to look forward to.

Right now, he pushes it out of his mind. WoW is back on the fighting platform -- as Samus, this time, fighting some noob who's evidently a button-masher. The wind and rain beat furiously on the windows, punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder, but inside the apartment, everything is warm and cozy. L2 turns his attention back to his picture: just a bit more work, and then he can begin on an actual draft.

They continue on in companionable silence until WoW yawns and turns off the system; L2 hears him bustling around in the bathroom, then heading off to bed. He finishes his sketch before following suit. WoW is already snoring; L2 gives him a little kick as he slips beneath the covers to get him to stop. Eventually, he falls asleep.


End file.
